I know my limitations. I know what I can do well – sing the blues, shop till I drop, properly accessorize and flirt like nobody’s business. The list of what I can’t do is long. I’m embarrassed to admit my irresponsibility is legendary. I can’t keep a houseplant alive to save my soul. So why am I running down a dark Chicago alley trying to save the life of a six-foot-four-inch beaten-to-a-pulp and half-way dead guy? I am so not cut out for this kind of stuff. Unfortunately, he has no option but to believe I can save him. Boy is he in trouble.